One Who Fights
by DarkScales
Summary: He was born Keithek, with purple hair and yellow eyes and bright red markings the color of blood. (Galra!Altean!Keith AU)
1. Little Warrior

**Summary:** He was born Keithek, with purple hair and yellow eyes and bright red markings the color of blood. (Galra!Altean!Keith AU)

 **Rating:** T for canon-typical violence

 **Notes:** Ha, well... at least I didn't talk about this on Tumblr and then end up not finishing it for months like Desert Gold? This is quite a bit shorter, admittedly, but the two other planned chapters will be longer than the first. I think. No warnings that I can think of... though, watch out for angst. There's going to be a lot of that soon. ^.^

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Little Warrior**

He was born _Keithek,_ with purple hair and yellow eyes and bright red markings the color of blood.

"You know," his mother said, exhausted but happy as she cradled him in her arms, "apparently, ancient Alteans used to believe that the color of your eye-markings represented certain personality traits. Red was the color of battle, signifying that they would become great warriors."

"Really?" his father laughed. "That's quite fitting. You know, in Old Galran, the name _Keithek_ means 'warrior'. Or, to be more exact, 'one who fights'."

"Let's hope he lives up to it," his mother sighed, "especially in these times. My people may have been peaceful diplomats once, but– well, no more. Now, we must fight if we are to survive." She sighed again. "Yes, let's hope."

"Let's hope," his father echoed, and held his family close.

* * *

From almost the moment he could walk, Keithek's father taught him how to fight.

"Thace," his mother said, frowning, the day his father showed him the fasted way to disable a Galra soldier, "don't you think he's a bit young for that?"

"Yes," Thace admitted, "but he has to know. I wish he didn't, but Zarkon isn't getting any weaker." He paused, looking contrite. "I'm sorry, Gracea. I just want him to have the best chance possible."

Gracea thought for a long moment, coming to terms with that logic. "Well," she informed him, "if that's the case, then tomorrow I'll teach him how to fly."

* * *

Keithek's father didn't always live with Keithek and his mother. In fact, his father was rarely home, and whenever he came he could never stay for too long. Keithek didn't know why things were like that, only that they were, and that was all that he'd ever known.

"Mom?" he asked her one day as the two of them watched Thace's ship disappear into the sky, "where's Dad going?"

Gracea hesitated before replying, as if she was carefully choosing each word to use in her answer. "Your father," she told Keithek, "has a very special job. He's working to make the entire universe a better place. But it's a really hard job, since the universe is a big place, so it keeps him very busy. He's really important."

"Oh," Keithek said, and felt a little better. "That's good."

His mother smiled. "Yes, it definitely is."

* * *

Keithek managed to turn his skin purple on his first try.

"Look, Mom!" he cried, peering at himself in the mirror. "I look just like Dad!"

His mother laughed. "That you do, little warrior," she said affectionately, ruffling his hair. "Now, can you make yourself look even _more_ like him? His ears are different than yours, remember."

Keithek concentrated. Slowly, very slowly, his pointed ears grew larger, migrated a little higher up his head, and half-blended with his hair. It wasn't perfect, not quite, but decent for a beginner. Maybe passable as a disguise, if nobody looked too closely.

All in all, his mother was pleased.

"Good job!" she praised. "Let's try a few other species now. Can you do Altean?"

"Sure!" In another few moments, his ears migrated back down and his eyes changed color, gaining purple pupils with dark blue irises and white sclera. His skin returned to its natural brown, red markings under his eyes, and his tiny fangs and claws transformed into fingernails and blunted teeth.

"Oh," his mother sighed, "you look just like your grandmother."

Keithek blinked up at her, somewhat nonplussed. He'd never met either set of grandparents, them all having died before he was born. "Huh?"

"She had red eye-markings like yours," his mother explained, smiling with nostalgia. "And your face– it looks a lot like her. Did you know that she was the one who taught me that red eye-markings represented warriors? She was a fighter pilot; taught me everything that I'm teaching you."

"Really? That's so cool," Keithek breathed.

His mother grinned and tapped him on the nose. "It is, isn't it. So, work hard, and make our family proud."

Keithek beamed. "I will!"

"Good. And maybe next week, after you've got this down, I'll teach you how you can use this in a fight."

"Really?! _Cool!_ "

* * *

The next time Keithek's father came home, he gave Keithek a dagger.

"These symbols," he explained to Keithek, who handled to blade with equal parts caution and awe, "are the emblems of your mother and I's families. This one, here," he pointed to a jagged design outlined in the dagger's hilt, "was the Galra symbol before the empire. And this one, here," he pointed to the second design, the first's opposite in that it was all flowing lines and elegant curves, "was the symbol of Altea. Your mother's home planet, before it was lost."

Keithek's mother nodded. "This is a big responsibility," she told him, stern. "Your father and I talked for a long time about this, and you have to promise us that you'll be careful with it. This is a weapon, not a toy." She paused, letting that sinking it. "We can take it away if we have to. But we want to trust you. Okay, Keithek?"

"Yes!" he assured his parents, eager.

"Good." His mother smiled. "Now, these symbols are dangerous to show to the rest of the universe, so you have to keep them covered at all times. Here, let me show you." She borrowed the dagger, pulling a cloth sleeve over the symbols to hide them from view before handing it back.

Keithek was a little disappointed, but understood. From then on, he always kept the dagger's hilt covered, only baring it to look at the engravings, trace them with his fingers, and… wonder.

 _What would things have been like, before the Empire?_

* * *

The story of Voltron, Defender of the Universe and the greatest weapon ever created, had always been one of Keithek's favorites.

His mother told it so well, too. _Ten thousand and five hundred years ago,_ she would always start, sitting on Keithek's bed, _all the civilized planets in the universe decided to work together and build the greatest weapon of them all: five great mechanical lions, who would all combine to form the giant Voltron._

 _Leading the project,_ she would continue, _were two great allies: Altea and Galra. The five lions were even based on the five Guardians of Altean myth, did you know that?_

Keithek did know that, but he would always say that he didn't. _Really, Mom? That's so cool!_

 _It is, isn't it?_ she would laugh, carding her fingers through his hair. _So. The planets all worked together to build Voltron, and when the time came, they had to choose five Paladins to pilot him. They were the best pilots the universe had to offer. Strong, noble, brave. Each lion and their Paladin had different traits that all worked together to make something greater than the sum of their parts._

His mother would continue to describe the five lions, pausing every so often for Keithek to offer up his own comments. He had always liked the Red Lion best, awed by her fierce nature and strength. And then, the story would continue, as his mother regaled him with tales of Voltron traveling from system to system helping those in need.

But then, as always, things would come to an end.

 _Ten thousand years ago, the newly crowned Emperor of the Galra became greedy for power,_ she would murmur, tone dipping low and sinister. _He plotted behind the backs of the other Paladins and, when they had let their guards down, he struck– tearing Voltron apart from the inside, and plunging the universe into all-out war._

 _King Alfor of Altea scattered the Voltron lions to keep them out of the Emperor's hands. To this day, nobody knows where they are. Voltron, many thought, was lost forever._

 _Except. There is always hope, little warrior. For it is said that some day, when the time is right, five new Paladins will arise and call back the lions from their slumber. Five new Paladins will resurrect Voltron once more, and they will bring peace back to us all._

 _Ten thousand years ago, Voltron fell,_ she said, _but someday, he will return._

* * *

"This is fun!" Keithek laughed, taking the ship in a wide turn. His mother laughed with him from the copilot's seat, bright and joyful and _happy._

Maybe it made him a mama's boy, but Keithek wanted his mother to laugh like that more often. She had been so worried as of late, her and his father both. They thought he couldn't hear them whispering to each other sometimes but he could; he may have been only five but he wasn't _stupid._ He knew that something was going on, something bad, and if it was making all the of adults nervous than it was something big too.

"Remember, keep the nose up when you land," Keithek's mother coached. "Gentle, gentle… good!"

Keithek grinned, the ship only jolting slightly as it touched down. It didn't even need any help as he powered off all the systems, unstrapped himself from his harness, and climbed out the open hatch. He was five already and not a baby anymore; soon, his mother might even take the training limits off the ship.

Keithek resolved to bring it up later.

Except, after they had gotten back to their rooms… Keithek's mother received a call that made her face blanch. A moment later, the base's alarms went off and a voice from the PA system urged everyone to evacuate.

" _This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill,_ " the voice said amidst blaring alarms.

"Mom? What's happening?" Keithek was scared by the abrupt change in situation, but forced himself to stay calm. Panic, he had always been taught, was his worst enemy in a dangerous situation. And he was pretty sure that this _definitely_ counted as dangerous.

"Grab your special bag, little warrior. Remember, the one that we packed for you? And take anything you want that you can carry; we're not coming back," his mother ordered. She sounded stressed and stern as she moved through their quarters, the complete opposite of her normally kind disposition. Something in her tone told Keithek that she would brook no argument.

Keithek obeyed, fear curdling tight in his gut. He rushed to his room and grabbed his bag of essentials, including his dagger. Beyond that… there really wasn't much else, and none of it was anything that he couldn't do without.

"Come on," his mother said, hurrying into his room. She slung his pack over one shoulder and scooped him up, rushing out the door with Keithek clinging on as if his life depended on it.

They joined the flood of countless others in the halls, all fleeing for the escape pods and ships. "Zarkon's found us!" Keithek saw someone yell into a communicator as they sprinted by. "You can't come here–"

Keithek whimpered. _Zarkon._ He'd heard that name before, spoken in hushed voices by his parents during their serious adult-only conversations. He knew that Zarkon was bad, very bad, and if Zarkon had discovered them then they were in big trouble.

When the two of them got to their ship, Keithek was strapped in and his mother went through the fastest pre-flight check he had ever seen. Even then they were almost too slow, and just as they blasted from the planet's surface a fleet of Galra ships descended with weapons firing.

"Hang on!" Keithek's mother shouted, throwing their ship into evasive maneuvers. Below them, the base– the only home that Keithek had ever lived in –shuddered under the assault. Its shields flickered with every bomb, people still spilling out, and the air grew thick with ships both fighting and fleeing.

Keithek yelped when the ship dropped into a swooping dive. Gravity tugged at them with hungry claws as they pulled up, Keithek saw his mother hit some buttons that he'd never been allowed to touch and then–

They burst out of the planet's atmosphere and straight into a Galra fleet.

Keithek's mother swore. Keithek only stared, horror making him sick to his stomach. "Mom?"

She took a breath. "...It'll be okay, my little warrior. We are strong, and we will _live._ " Keithek saw his mother's hands tighten on the controls, something hard and resolute settling across her like armor. "Trust me."

All around them, other ships fell into the same trap. The Galra fleet opened fire. Some were reduced to scrap, tumbling away into empty space or falling back into the planet's atmosphere to burn. Others, quicker to react, survived– but rarely unscathed.

His mother gritted her teeth, narrowed her eyes, and _flew._

The next few minutes were a blur. Keithek registered explosions, dizzying twists and turns and spirals, darkness lit up with laser blasts and brilliant lights and vivid destruction. Their ship was small and slight, nimble and darting and too fast to catch right up until they weren't.

Keithek screamed as their craft was slammed sideways, one wing torn clean off, he heard his mother shouting they weren't stabilizing only spinning wildly out of control and–

* * *

When he woke up, his mother was pulling him out of the wreckage of their ship. She looked exhausted; soot smeared on her face and a gash across her cheek but she was _there,_ she was alive, his mother was there so everything would be okay.

"You see," she whispered to him, brushing back his hair with a gentle touch, "I told you that we would live."

Keithek's throat was too tight for him to reply, so all he did was nod and then cling to her as tightly as he could.

"Where are we?" he asked an undeterminable amount of time later. His mother had, after inspecting the ship's remains and declaring it a lost cause taken them both to search for shelter. Keithek observed this unfamiliar planet's surface with part curiosity and part trepidation, still carried in his mother's arms.

She sighed, looking up at strange stars in a strange sky. "I don't know, little warrior," she told him. "But, wherever it is, I have a feeling that we might be here for a long time."

* * *

( _Far, far away, days later at the new resistance base:_

"Please," Thace asked, desperate, "has anyone seen them? My wife, Gracea, and my son, Keithek? Gracea is Altean; she has black hair and purple eyes and dark pink eye-markings. Keithek is only five, he has purple hair and yellow eyes and bright red eye-markings. Please, has anyone seen them?"

Nobody answered. Sympathetic gazes slid away, heads shoot, and not a single person knew where they were.

Well. Not until a pilot, Gracea's closest friend and Keithek's adopted aunt, approached.

"I'm sorry," she began, and Thace's heart stuttered with dread, "but their ship… I saw them get hit, their left wing was completely gone and they flew into deep space. The uncivilized territories."

Thace stared at her, a dull roaring in his ears that wouldn't go away. "No. No, that can't be right, they can't be–" he couldn't bring himself to finish.

"I'm sorry," the pilot said again, clasping his shoulder in comfort. She looked close to tears, eyes suspiciously bright, and for several long moments they stood together in silence.

Thace felt himself shatter into a million pieces.)


	2. Being Human

**...Um. Really sorry it took so long. Hope you enjoy the next chapter! And thanks to everyone who reviewed; you're all amazing! :D**

 **To Guest: Sorry, but I'm not entirely sure which character tags you're talking about? Unfortunately, doesn't have tags for Thace or Keith's mother yet. And the story is pretty Keith-centric, with Shiro as the person who probably gets the second-most screen time, so I have it tagged with them... is there someone else you'd like me to tag?**

 **To AshesGleamandGlow: Don't worry, you don't sound desperate. I'm so flattered that you like it so much! ^.^**

 **Hope you guys enjoy reading, and feel free to find me on AO3 as DarkScales and Tumblr as darkscaleswriter!**

 **Also: I regret nothing. Please be warned for character (or is she technically an OC?) death and canonical fake character death in this chapter.**

 **Edit: oh no I completely forgot about this earlier, but universally-trichster-lexicona on Tumblr drew some amazing fanart for this story! You can find it on my Tumblr under the tag "One Who Fights". :D**

* * *

The next few years were… difficult, to say the least.

After several long and harrowing days trekking through the desert, during which it was discovered that spiky plants on sticks made for excellent (if short-lived) weapons and that some of them even had _water_ on the inside, Keithek and his mother reached civilization. By that point, they were hungry, exhausted, and dehydrated. Integrating themselves into the town's homeless population as they tried to figure out what to do next, they came to a grim conclusion.

The planet, called _Earth_ by its inhabitants, just wasn't advanced enough to get them home.

"I'm sorry, but… we might be staying here forever," Keithek's mother sighed. She carded her fingers through Keithek's hair, jet-black to match Earth's dominant native species– humans. Incidentally, it also matched her own hair, making parent and child look more alike than ever. For Gracea, the main differences from her Altean form were monochrome blue-black eyes rather than her usual dual-toned magenta and dark blue, along with oddly shaped ears that were blunt and rounded at the tips instead of pointed.

Keithek had patterned his own human disguise after a smaller version of her, dark eyes and rounded ears and no eye-markings at all. Having pupils took some getting used to in particular, and weren't nearly as light-sensitive as he was accustomed to. It was _weird._

(At least humans shared the same body type as Alteans and Galra. Keithek didn't know what they would've done if humans had three arms or multiple heads or something.)

Still, things could have been worse. They were still alive, after all.

* * *

It took a single Earth year for the two of them to understand human life and society enough to blend in. Keithek's mother figured out how to hack Earth's systems ("Rather primitive, compared to ours, but we don't complain about easy marks, eh?" she said to Keithek– no, _Keith,_ who grinned in agreement, and now she was _Grace,_ not Gracea) and fake their records, allowing them to truly integrate. They even changed their names to better fit with human language, only using their true identities in secret with each other. It was different, certainly, but… well, they managed.

Keith's mother got a job, and over time they managed to save up enough to get their own apartment. It was small, with dubious lighting and faulty heating, but it was good enough. After living homeless, almost anything else was an improvement. And, most important of all, it was _theirs._

Keith was homeschooled, his education a mixture of continuing lessons from the resistance base and of what Grace had figured out of human schooling. Unconventional, to be sure, patchwork and incomplete and Grace studied half the lessons with him, but like everything else in this strange world, they made it work.

Moon cycles crawled by, then entire rotations of the planet, and the two refugees adjusted to life on Earth. Both of them missed Thace in their own ways, and showed it differently. Keith was determined to continue practicing his combat skills, those and his dagger being the only real things he had left of his father. Grace told Keith stories of Altea, of the old days of Galra, and ensured that he kept in touch with his heritage. Both sides of it, no matter that one of them now had a legacy of terror and fear and brutality.

(Besides, it wasn't as if Altean history was all nice and good, either. They were warriors before they were diplomats, and with the destruction of their planet they had become warriors once again.)

Earth wasn't home, and perhaps it never would be, but that was fine. They were making do, and that was what counted.

* * *

"Keithek," his mother said, "come with me. We're going to go on a little trip."

Keith looked up from where he had been sulking, split lip puffy from a fight he'd gotten into earlier that day. Some other kids had been making fun of him because it was well known in the neighborhood that his father wasn't around, and he'd lost his temper at them.

"Am I in more trouble?" he asked. He knew that he wasn't supposed to give in to the bullies and fight them because he wasn't like the other kids; he could really hurt someone if he lost control. And it only gave them what they wanted, besides.

His mother pursed her lips. "No, because you've already been punished." He was grounded for the next three days in addition to receiving a stern lecture on when it was and wasn't appropriate to fight. "This is something… different."

Well. It wasn't as if he had a choice, anyway.

They ended up driving a ways out of town, back to the surrounding desert that they'd first landed in. They skirted around the Garrison, an Earth military space academy that still wasn't advanced enough to be worth stealing from (Grace had checked) and finally stopped at what appeared to be yet another stretch of barren desert.

"Come on," Keith's mother told him as she got out of the car. "We have to walk a bit to get there."

Keith, by that point, had forgotten his unhappiness and was all curiosity instead. "Where are we going?"

His mother grinned at him, and, in that moment, looked decades younger. "You'll see, little warrior."

...That sort of response only piqued his interest further. And, considering that his mother seemed almost playful, it was sure to be good.

After maybe ten minutes of walking, Keith's mother stopped. She turned, gesturing to the surrounding area. Without preamble, she announced, "This land, starting from where we left the car and the square mile around us, is now ours. I was planning to build a cabin or something; someplace where we can be ourselves without worrying about the neighbors seeing. What do you think?"

Keith gaped, blindsided. "What– _really?_ "

"Of course. I was actually saving this for your birthday next week, but this is as good a time as any. Now, are you going to help me or not?" Grace asked, still grinning.

Keith grinned back, disguise slipping a bit to reveal tiny fangs in his excitement. "When do we start?"

* * *

The structure they built was small, a cabin with a tiny closet of a bathroom and the bare bones of a kitchenette crammed into one corner. It had generators for electricity and such, all solar-powered, and probably strongest satellite link in the country. They would get their supplies from town, which, though it was a bit far, wasn't such a distance as to be unreasonable. Besides, the cabin was designed to be as self-sufficient as possible.

It wasn't much, but they were used to that by now, and it provided a sorely-needed safe haven for both Keith and Grace. They couldn't live there; Grace still had her job and they had to keep up a normal appearance for the neighbors, but they went on enough "camping trips" to gain a reputation as quite the nature-lovers. Grace found this highly amusing, because if she had a passion for anything, it was flight and mechanics, not nature. Keith didn't care either way.

("I like being able to see in the dark again," Keith told his mother as they looked up at the night sky. "It makes the stars so much brighter.")

In a rare bout of kindness from the universe, life… was actually going pretty well. They were _happy,_ and it showed.

* * *

Except, because Fate was cruel and the universe never stayed kind for long, things only went downhill from there.

It started, as many such things did, with an ordinary beginning.

The family of two woke, ate breakfast, and went through their morning routine without incident. Grace was allowed to bring Keith to work with her given that he didn't disturb anyone, which meant that both of them got into the car to start their regular commute.

But this time–

There was a traffic-heavy intersection. A drunk driver. The next thing Keith knew, he was waking up in the hospital.

(Keith survived. His mother… didn't.)

His total list of injuries came out to cracked ribs, multiple lacerations, and a concussion on top of his trauma and other head injuries. The doctors said he was lucky. Keith wanted to punch them because he sure didn't _feel_ lucky. Not with his mother gone, the only one of his family that he had left, it just wasn't fair _why had she left him?_

As if that wasn't bad enough, the combination of a concussion and trauma from the accident gave Keith minor amnesia. His memories were… scrambled. Some things stayed, but others didn't. He knew his name wasn't always Keith, but he didn't know what it used to be. He knew he wasn't human, but he didn't know what species he really was. He knew he was an alien, but all the memories he had of space were flashes, impressions, hazy images that faded even further as the years passed.

It didn't help that he was immersed in Earth culture, living amongst humans who treated him as one of them, with nothing left to keep him in touch with his heritage. Nothing except a dagger, hilt beneath its wrappings inscribed with two symbols that he understood meant _family_ but couldn't remember why. Nothing except a dagger and the tattered fragments of his memories, but even those were slipping away, and that _terrified_ him.

 _I don't want to forget,_ he whispered to himself, clinging to the sound of his mother's voice. He saved what he could, held them close to his heart, but sometimes the little things slipped through the cracks.

 _I can't remember what Dad's smile looks like,_ he realizes, and had to try very hard not to cry.

Without his memories, without his mother, Keith felt very much like the loneliest person in the world.

* * *

Keith grew older, moved from foster home to foster home, but never quite managed to fit in. Only one of them was of any particular note. That was Keith's last and his longest, the reason for which capable of being summed up by a single person: Takashi Shirogane, Shiro for short, Keith's neighbor and best (only) friend.

(They met on a cold winter's afternoon, the sky overcast and grey with looming clouds. Breath billowed out as frost, exposed skin grew red and numb from biting wind. Shiro was a few years older than Keith, popular and admired by practically the entire school. Keith heard of Shiro before he met him, saw the older teen in passing before they ever talked.

"Hey," Shiro began, at his shoulder because they walked the same route back from school, "you're… Keith, right?"

Keith glanced at him, surprised and more than a bit wary. "Yeah. Why?"

Shiro grinned. "We're neighbors, aren't we? I thought maybe we could be friends."

Keith stared. "Why?"

Shiro shrugged. "I dunno, you seem cool."

Keith stared some more. "What, just because of that?"

Shiro laughed. "What other reason do I need?"

To that, Keith had no response.

And that set the tone for the rest of their friendship.)

Even after Shiro went off to the Garrison and became a pilot, they kept in touch. Emails, texts, phone calls, and sometimes even meeting up in person to hang out. Keith got himself emancipated, moving into a small apartment in the town where he and his mother had first settled. Shiro supported the decision as much as he could, even coming over to help Keith move. Keith, in return, was always ready to lend a hand or an open ear if Shiro had any problems.

For a time, life was… not _great,_ not when Keith still dreamed of nebulas and stardust and fragmented images of war, but… better.

Things were looking up.

* * *

" _You're joining the Garrison?_ " Shiro asked, surprise evident even over the phone. " _Why?_ "

"I want to be a pilot," Keith replied. _Like you,_ he didn't say, but it hung in the silence between them all the same. "And– I want to go to space."

He had always intended to fly someday, drawn to the darkness of what was beyond Earth, beyond even their solar system. He had always longed for it, somehow, and he knew that somewhere out there was his birthplace. Somewhere out there was the place where he had come from, and maybe it was the alien blood that ran through his veins but he had always known that he was never meant to stay grounded. Not forever.

Shiro made an amused sort of huffing noise, fond with a tinge of exasperation. " _You know, Keith,_ " he chuckled, " _ever since day one, you've always managed to surprise me._ "

Miles away, Keith blinked, demanded, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" and only became more confused as Shiro just laughed.

* * *

Keith followed Shiro to the Garrison, though they only overlapped for a year. He found that he was _good_ at piloting, that he _knew this,_ and the first time he got behind the controls of a ship he had a sudden image of longer hands wrapped around his, a gentle voice guiding him through the sky, and it was Keith's father who taught him how to fight but it was his mother who taught him how to _fly._

Shiro graduated, going on to become one of the youngest and most accomplished pilots in the program. Keith excelled in some of his classes and was less than stellar in others, his temper and somewhat prickly personality not earning him any friends. Shiro helped, though, coached him through difficult to understand concepts in classwork and encouraged him when it felt as if he could never measure up to what he wanted to be. Without Shiro, Keith didn't think he would have ever made it as far as he had.

"Hey, Keith!" Shiro greeted one day as they met for lunch, sitting at a small cafe in the small town by the Garrison. It wasn't too far from where Keith and his mother used to live, though the neighborhood had definitely changed over the years.

"Hey, Shiro." Keith smiled, feeling himself relax as Shiro grinned at him. "How've you been?"

Shiro leaned back in his seat, looking immensely pleased with himself. "Well, you'll never guess what happened yesterday…"

* * *

The Kerberos mission was one of exploration and research, taking its crew the farthest into space that any human had ever gone. The crewmembers would be trailblazers, the first to set foot on the icy planet. For them to ask Shiro to be the mission's pilot was an honor of the highest degree.

The downside would that he would be away from Earth for over half a year, and, once they passed a certain point, contact with Earth would be minimal.

Keith was there to see Shiro off before the launch, and watched the ship as it blasted off into the sky. He stood there until it was out of sight, watching them with something very much like longing tight in his chest.

(As he left, he caught a glimpse of a girl, with long brown hair and amber-brown eyes. She walked beside a woman who was probably her mother, judging by their resemblance, and she seemed as enthusiastic as the crew had been themselves.

 _They must be the other half of the Holt family,_ Keith thought, and continued on. He paid no more mind to the girl, which, in retrospect… was probably a mistake.

In his defense, he hadn't anticipated ever seeing her again. Especially not in _space._ )

* * *

The universe just couldn't give Keith a break, and those on the Kerberos mission never came home.

Shiro's family– they practically adopted him, and the Garrison hadn't even had the decency to let them know _before_ it was national news –called him when they found out.

(" _Keith–_ " Shiro's mother started, a hitch in her breath like she was on the edge of tears, " _did you hear–?_ "

"Yeah," he whispered, hoarse. "I heard.")

Losing Shiro… it broke something loose in him, something that he'd never even realized had been repaired. The gaping hole where his parents had been, where his lost memories had been, all that pain and emptiness and grief roared back to life with a vengeance. For a time, Keith was in a daze. His grades dropped as he stopped caring, his record grew stained with black marks. He became too wild to obey the Garrison's rules, too reckless and disobedient and despite his talent they forced him out.

(It probably didn't help that he got into a fight right in front of Iverson when another cadet tried to provoke him by badmouthing Shiro. Keith didn't even remember throwing the first punch, only the red-bubbling rage and hurt and _how_ _ **dare**_ _you say that about Shiro–!_

Okay, yeah. Looking back, that had been a pretty stupid move.

But, to him, it had been more than worth it.)

He ended up wandering after that, but was soon drawn back to the desert. Back to the little cabin his mother built, following a strange pull he couldn't explain, and then–

 _The lion cave._

Keith had stumbled across the cave after he'd wandered too far and gotten caught in a storm, bolting into the rocks for shelter. Carvings lined the walls, stories that told of hunts and battles and an enormous robotic lion that was central to it all. He searched for the lion, too, venturing deep into twisting tunnels so dark it seemed he'd never see light again. The night vision of his native form was instrumental, then, helping him navigate without having to waste power on flashlights or lamps.

No matter how far he explored, the caves never ended. He never found the lion that the carvings spoke of, either, though some instinct deep inside him said that it was _there,_ that he was so close, that if he only went a little farther–!

The pull almost drove him mad, some days. That, and the solitude. There were still people in the only town around for miles who remembered him, who remembered the lost little boy and his mother who'd stumbled in from the desert all those years ago. Who still remembered seeing him grow, remembered the accident and the tragedy and he hadn't encountered them for a long, long time but they still remembered.

Keith avoided the town. He couldn't stand the mix of pity and suspicion that some of the townspeople regarded him with, couldn't stand how rumors of how he'd gone feral out there in the desert– because he and his mother had always been a little strange, never quite been _normal,_ and wasn't it par for the course that he'd only grown more eccentric as he'd grown older. Those who hadn't known him back then, who only knew of _Keith the loner_ and not _Grace's son_ were the worst. Others were different. They looked at him with sympathy instead of pity, were kind to him on the rare occasions he came in for supplies, but they were so much fewer than the rest.

(He and his mother had never been particularly social, after all. He never thought that might come back to bite him.)

Keith did have something to work towards, however. Some of the carvings in the cave heralded a pivotal event, a coming, a meteor that would descend from the sky and bring with it an awakening. It wasn't clear on exactly _when,_ but Keith had a feeling it would be soon.

 _The universe is a strange yet wonderful place,_ his mother had told him once. _It has a magic all its own, you know. Perhaps, someday, you'll even learn to see it. Things have a way of working out in the end, and that is not simply chance. But remember, my son. You can't rely on something fickle like Fate to make your life work for you. We were born with free will for a reason, and though the universe might push you in a certain direction, it's up to you to take it the rest of the way._

And then an alien ship crash-landed in the desert, and Keith _knew._

The universe had spoken. Whatever happened next would change _everything._


	3. Red Paladin

**HUGE THANKS to Guest, dragonrider1234, frostystuffs, AshesGleamandGlow, San child of the wolves, Grima, and Shadow of the Moon555 for reviewing!**

 **Finally, the last chapter of this fic. I hope you all enjoyed reading! ^.^**

 **Edit: there is now a sequel, called Rebels! It can be found on my profile.**

* * *

 _Breathe._

Keith lay flat on a particularly tall outcropping of rock, scoping out where to place charges below so as to cause the maximum amount of panic without actually hurting anything. Because while the Garrison might have ignored him since he'd gotten kicked out, he was pretty sure they'd take notice if he blew up their stuff. Or, worse, one of their people.

The alien ship that lay plowed into the dirt below was dark and sleek, so obviously not of this world that Keith had to wonder how the Garrison was going to cover this up. He honestly had no idea what had happened to the ship that he and his mother had crash-landed in all those years ago (buried, maybe; he'd never found if his mother had ever gone back to hide it) but if the way the soldiers were swarming all over this ship was any indication… they weren't about to let alien tech slip out of their hands.

Another minute more and Keith had mapped out his target area, proceeding to climb down from his perch and circle around the area to plant the bombs. They were all bark and no bite, really, but that was just what he needed.

Thankfully, things went as planned, and under the cover of his distraction Keith darted past yelling soldiers and slipped into the ship. A prickling sense of familiarity grew more and more prominent in the back of his mind as he did so, the glowing pink-purple accents and black metal ominous in more ways than one. Something about the ship screamed _DANGER_ to him in neon letters, half-formed impressions of battle and bright light and explosions echoing in his mind.

Keith pushed it aside, focusing on _here_ and _now_ rather than his hazy memories. It was easy to take out the scientists that tried to rush him when he burst into the room, almost laughably so. Surely there had to be more guards than this?

Crossing the room to the figure that lay drugged on the table, Keith turned their head to see their face and–

" _Shiro?!_ "

His friend was bulkier than he remembered, different than he remembered with a scar across his face and that slightly ridiculous tuft of hair turned pure white. He was dressed in tattered clothing that had definitely seen better days, grime crusted into the folds and smelling like he hadn't been washed in a month.

None of that mattered, though. All that Keith cared about was that Shiro was _alive,_ he was _there,_ he wasn't dead somewhere out in space like everyone had thought.

Shiro was also strapped to the table, which was a situation that needed to be rectified. Immediately.

Three more people barged in as Keith hauled Shiro up off the table, one of them vaguely familiar as they babbled something about rivals. Keith resisted the urge to snarl at him with fangs bared; he didn't have _time_ to deal with this. They didn't give him a choice, though, and in the end he wound up driving them all off a cliff.

(He had to admit, the screaming had been pretty satisfying.)

Keith took the long way back to his home, paranoia making him detour through a natural maze of rock formations to further ensure nobody followed them. Shiro was still out cold, and he was ignoring the curious chatter of the others. Instead, he mentally reorganized supplies to accommodate for three more people than originally planned. He couldn't just let them go back, of course; the Garrison would be looking and Keith didn't want to wake up to them banging down his door. However, he didn't exactly have room for them, either.

Aargh. Why had they needed to barge in and ruin all his plans?

* * *

"Holy crow, you literally live in a _shack,_ " Lance groaned as they pulled up, Keith cutting the engine to let them thump softly back to earth. "Is this where you've been for the past year? Playing crazy desert hermit?"

Keith gritted his teeth. "It's not a _shack._ " It was the closest thing to home that he had left, the cabin that he and his mother had built all for themselves. Lance had _no right–_

 _...Stop. Breathe._

He was far too stressed to deal with this. Shiro still hadn't woken up, which was worrying, and he didn't want to snap and hurt one of them. Lance couldn't have known what the cabin meant to him. And, to be fair, it didn't exactly look impressive. Not at first sight, anyway.

Lance still helped him move Shiro inside, though, despite the grumblings that seemed mostly for show. The other two (Hunk and Pidge, what kind of names were those? And Pidge had an eerie resemblance to Matt Holt, which his brain knew was probably important but was too tired to figure out right then) followed behind, wide-eyed as they examined the place. Or, well, if by _examined_ he meant _poked around like invasive cats and got into everything._ He almost had to fish Pidge out of a water cistern at one point.

Eventually, Keith got them all settled down for the night in various places around the cabin, nestled in old blankets and whatever he could dig out that could substitute for bedding. He'd given up his bed to Shiro, Hunk and Lance were squashed together on the couch, and for some reason Pidge had ended up under the coffee table.

Which left Keith to curl up next to his bed, angled so that he could keep an eye on both Shiro and everyone else. It didn't take long for him to fall into a light sleep, dozing off as the night's events caught up to him.

Still, his hand never left the dagger that he kept tucked at his side.

* * *

"...Keith?"

A feather-light touch on his shoulder roused him, Keith sitting up as he blinked the last vestiges of sleep away. "Huh?"

Shiro's face came into focus. His eyes were wide, his face pale in the darkness, and the moonlight through the window seemed to highlight a gauntness that spoke of too little food for too long of a time. "Keith?"

"Shiro!" Wide awake, Keith scrambled to his feet. "You're awake!"

"I– this isn't a dream, then?" Shiro looked around the cabin. "Where am I? Who are these people?"

"You're safe," Keith said. "This is my home. These are…" He trailed off. What _were_ they to him? Not friends, no longer classmates… "Freeloaders."

Shiro raised a brow. "Freeloaders?"

Keith crossed his arms, still disgruntled by how his plan had gone off the rails. "Yes. They barged in and invited themselves along." A pause. "And now I'm stuck with them."

Shiro blinked. "...Okay." He looked uncertain. _Scared._ Keith didn't like it. It was clear that Shiro hadn't spent a year in captivity without the scars to show for it, even beyond his new prosthetic arm.

Keith glanced out the window. It was just before dawn, the sky a soft dove-grey as light began to rise over the horizon. "Do you want to go outside? It'll be sunrise soon."

"I– yeah. Please." It was obvious that the cabin was too small for Shiro, that he needed open skies and fresh air.

Nodding, Keith led Shiro over to the door, opening it at silently as he could so that he didn't wake the others. Shiro followed him out, Keith giving him some privacy to get his thoughts together as Keith went over to do some maintenance on his bike. The extra load the night before hadn't done its engine any favors, especially not at the speeds they'd been going. There some parts that he'd probably need to replace soon.

Still, as Keith looked over to see his friend staring out into the desert, worn and battered but not yet broken, Keith couldn't help but think: _it was worth it._

Shiro was alive. Take _that,_ Garrison.

* * *

He didn't know why, but he told the others about the strange energy he felt. About how he was drawn out to the desert, about the lion cave, about all the strange things that he'd found. Then it turned out that Hunk and Pidge were veritable engineering _geniuses,_ the carvings could light up like neon, and there was apparently being a giant blue robotic lion sitting hidden in the desert for who knew how long.

( _Ten thousand years,_ he thought, and wasn't quite sure why he felt so certain about it.)

The wormhole was brilliant, a shining portal across the very fabric of space, and when Keith saw it he couldn't help a prickling sense of familiarity. He _recognized_ it, somehow, and when they were pulled into the dizzying vortex within he heard an echo of his own bright laughter.

Then they came upon the planet Arus, landing before an enormous castle, and something about it made all the hairs on Keith's neck stand on end. It was dead silent inside, a sort of hush about the place comparable to that of a cathedral, ancient and sacred yet _barren._ That didn't feel right to him. It should not have been silent. It should have been alive, resplendent and shining and majestic, yet time and abandonment had brought it low. There was something immeasurably tragic about that, if he cared to take the time to think about it.

Princess Allura, on the other hand… the first time he saw her, it was a struggle not to let his knees give out on him. Because she had pointed ears like his mother's, eye-markings just a few shades paler than hers had been, and perhaps Allura's hair and skin and eyes were the wrong colors but she was similar enough that it made Keith _ache._

 _She is what my mom was,_ he realized, when she spoke to them of Altea and her people and what was ancient history for them was just yesterday for her. _My mother… was Altean._

 _...I'm half Altean._

Only half, he knew, because his memories of his father showed the man as distinctly _purple_ all over. Based on Allura and Coran, Altean skin tones seemed to be along a similar range as humans. Besides which, his own true form had yellow eyes without visible pupils. Alteans' eyes appeared to be dual-toned, with white sclera just like humans.

There wasn't much time to let that sink in, though, because soon there was an invasion fleet on the way and they had to find the Voltron lions before they all got blown up. Which, wow. Some motivation.

It worked, though, and the feeling of all five paladins working in sync to rip through the Galra fleet was exhilarating. The Red Lion was fierce and wild and _proud,_ and she hadn't let Keith pilot her without testing him first. The sight of her, though, leaping out into space with jaws outstretched–

A memory floated out of the depths of his mind, a faint echo of his mother's voice. _Blazyrae,_ she had murmured, _Guardian of Fire._ _She is the most ferocious and temperamental of the five, wild and untamed and fickle. She does not give her favor lightly, but for her chosen– oh, she would set the world alight to see them safe._

 _A legend,_ Keith thought, and after that, _a Guardian._

"Defenders of the Universe," Shiro had said, and Keith couldn't help but agree.

* * *

Keith didn't tell Allura or Coran about his heritage, though, in part because he was afraid and in part because after he got the Red Lion and saw a Galran he _knew_ what species his father was. The memories were trickling back, not quite clear and not quite sharp because it had been over a decade but they were coming back. They were coming back, slowly but surely, yet sometimes Keith wished that they weren't.

Because he remembered now. He remembered that while he might have been half Altean he was half Galran too, but it was the Galra Empire that they were fighting and it was _his people_ who had taken over most of the universe. It made him sick that he knew, now, and for the first time in a long time he wished that he was human like the others.

(For a moment, Keith thought he might hate his father. But– no. He couldn't. His memories of the man were blurry but warm, tinted with affection and happiness. He wondered where his father was, if Thace was even still alive.)

It wasn't all bad, though. He was remembering good things, too– like the flash of his mother's grin when he did well in training, the stories she used to tell of Altean legends and their family's heritage, the soothing rhythm of an old lullaby. He remembered snatches of his childhood, flashes of half-formed figures that he could only associate with laughter or excitement or joy. Some of it was inane, like the taste of food goo (that apparently hadn't changed in ten thousand years) and the high-pitched _ayik-ayik-ayik_ call of a tannak bird (long extinct by now, as they had been native to Altea, but the call had been passed down his mother's family), but… not all of it was entirely useless information.

For one, he remembered what Galra tended to be weak to, and _that_ definitely came in handy.

Keith whirled, blade flashing as he cut the barrel off one soldier's gun and blocked the dagger that had been aimed for his head. There was a brief struggle as he pressed back against the officer, who was denoted by the rank markings on his armor. For all Keith's sword had more leverage with its greater size, the officer was at least a foot taller than him and looked to be about twice his weight.

Except. The officer had almost bat-like ears, wide and conical and probably more sensitive than an open wound.

Keith ducked away, his opponent stumbling forwards, then pursed his lips and _whistled._ The sound was as high and shrill as he could make it, sharp and piercing. It worked– the officer faltered, expression twisting, and Keith took advantage of the opening that left to slam the flat of his blade into the man's temple.

 _Huh,_ Keith thought to himself as he stepped over the unconscious body, heading for the ship's control room. _That worked better than I thought._

 _Maybe I should get Pidge to make us all dog whistles or something…_

* * *

Keith didn't tell the others about his heritage either, though. He would never admit it but he was scared, scared of what they'd think and what they'd say. Terrified, actually, and half-convinced that they all would hate him if they found out. It was the Galra who had destroyed Altea, after all (and wasn't it strange to realize that Altea could have been his planet as well, that it was his father's people who destroyed his mother's), it was the Galra who had captured and tortured Shiro, it was the Galra that they were fighting and _the Galra were the enemy._

So, yeah. Telling them: not an option.

(But that didn't stop it from tearing him apart inside.)

There were moments when Keith almost thought it might be okay. That maybe, just _maybe,_ they wouldn't reject him. Moments when they were laughing and comfortable and getting closer as a team, moments when he could look around himself and think: _yes. This is good. I could live like this._

Except, then, it would be shattered as they flew into battle and he heard the curses, the snarls, the righteous anger that bubbled up when they were tearing Galra ships into scrap. He knew it wasn't that they hated all Galra indiscriminately; it was just that all the ones that Team Voltron encountered were hostile members of the Empire.

Keith _existed,_ though, and wasn't that proof enough that not all Galra could be bad? His father had been a spy, he remembered that much, and if there was one there were probably more.

 _How many of those soldiers,_ he wondered as he saw fire bloom red-orange and beautiful in the sky, _would have fought for us if given the chance? How many were resistance informants? How many?_

Thoughts like that were too depressing to dwell on for long, though, and after a few moments Keith turned Red away and flew back towards the castle.

* * *

("My name is _Keithek,_ " he murmured to himself, tracing blood-red markings under slanted yellow eyes. "My mother was Gracea, of Altea. My father was Thace, of Galra. But," he swallowed, needing to say the words aloud to make them real. "I am also Keith, of the desert, of Earth, and I am the Red Paladin of Voltron. I cannot forget who I am. I _won't._ "

 _Not again,_ he didn't say, but the vow was there all the same.

Sometimes, he needed to remind himself who he really was to keep going. Before all the lies started to become truth.)

* * *

Barring a few short instances, Keith– for the most part –buried his heritage. Buried the doubts and fears and all thoughts of his alien blood deep, deep within the crevices of his mind, and threw himself into being a paladin. He knew he couldn't ignore the issue forever because it was festering, eating away like poison like rot, but– he could put it off. Just a little longer. He could deal with it on his own, and the others need never, _ever_ find out.

Except, well, he was stuck out in the middle of space with only six other people for company. Which meant that there came the inevitable reminiscing about Earth, which led to mentioning their families, and before Keith knew it, everyone was sharing stories and memories and there he was, awkwardly keeping his mouth shut because his mother had been dead for almost a decade and his father was who knew where out in space. Assuming, of course, that the man was even still alive. He had no extended family that he knew of, no siblings, and no real stories that he could safely tell. Or, at least, not without quite a bit of censoring.

And then, _of course,_ somebody noticed that he hadn't said a word for the past hour and was instead doing his level best to disappear into the couch.

"Hey, Keith," Hunk asked, and he was so _genuinely well-meaning_ that Keith couldn't find it in him to be all that annoyed, "what about you? Any stories you want to tell?"

Keith frowned. "Nah, not really." He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. "My mom died when I was pretty young, so…" Shrugging as if it was no big deal, he hoped that the casual explanation would prevent any further questions.

"Oh. Sorry, man," Hunk said.

Shiro, who apparently wasn't going to stand for the abrupt plunge in mood, leaned over to playfully ruffle Keith's hair. " _I've_ got some funny family stories about him, though," he offered, grinning.

Keith had a sudden sinking feeling in his gut. _Quiznak._ He knew he should've just made something up.

The other paladins looked at Shiro in confusion. " _You_ have family stories about him? Uh, no offense, but why?" Lance asked, wide-eyed.

Shiro blinked, turning to Keith. "Wait. You didn't tell them?"

"...Tell them what?"

Shiro sighed. "We've known each other for years. My family's practically your family at this point. I even helped you move into your apartment when you got emancipated, remember?"

Keith blinked at him. "Yeah, and you tripped over a rug and almost broke all my plates. So?"

Shiro laughed. "Of course you'd remember that. Not one of my finest moments, I'll admit."

Meanwhile, the rest of the team was gaping at them. "Wait," Pidge managed, "you two are, what, childhood friends?"

Keith and Shiro glanced at each other and shrugged in almost complete unison.

"I guess?" Shiro hedged, squinting as he thought about it. "I mean, we did go to the same school for like a year, but I dunno if it counts as childhood friends if we were both teenagers."

Lance's jaw was still hanging open. " _You–_ " he pointed at Keith, "and _you–_ " he pointed at Shiro, "I– my brain– _aargh._ "

Hunk poked Lance in the side. "...Dudes, I think you broke him."

Shiro stifled a laugh. Keith didn't bother to hide his amused snort.

* * *

So, yeah. Sometimes, there were moments like that. When Keith was able to relax and enjoy the camaraderie of his team, his _friends,_ and not think about everything else he had to deal with. Sometimes, those moments put him in the happiest moods he'd had since… oh, he didn't even remember. Since his mother had died, perhaps, or since Shiro had disappeared.

Other times, though, other times were much worse. Other times, they saw devastation and horror and conflict and Keith sort of wished that he could tear the Galra blood right out of himself because these were his people, this was his legacy, this was what the universe would see him as if he ever revealed himself.

 _Monsters. Destroyers. Warmongers._

It wasn't a pretty picture.

(And then, to make things worse: Zarkon said to him, _You fight like a Galran soldier._ Like it was a _compliment._

And Keith, Keith was angry yet _proud,_ because his mother taught him how to fly but his father taught him how to _fight._ )

* * *

 **The sequel to this, _Rebels,_ can be found on my profile. Thank you for reading!**


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